


To Fight (When You Feel Like Flying)

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc (X-Files), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: Scully copes with changes as she handles her pregnancy, least of which is the unexpected arrival of William.





	To Fight (When You Feel Like Flying)

When Scully gets the results, she's hesitant to believe them. She’s been having headaches, but she didn't want to even let herself consider the possibility that it could be anything more than stress and her body changing due to a pregnancy in her fifties.

Mulder insisted on coming with, a fact she's now grateful for as he grips her arm and starts moving out of the exam room. She's not entirely certain she’d be able to stand without his support. “There are options,” he says once they're securely in their car away from everyone else. He pries one of her hands away from where she's been clutching to a copy of the results, and he squeezes it tight. “We can fight this, Scully.”

“I can't,” she replies. Inside her, the baby stirs, kicking out and making her presence known. Scully rubs her free hand across her belly and laughs despite the tears burning her eyes. “I will, Mulder. But right now, carrying this baby? That has to be my priority. You understand that, don't you?”

“I get that, I do. But honey, this is your life we’re talking about. Cancer is nothing to--”

“I don't want to talk about it right now,” Scully cries, surprising even herself by how harsh her words are. She wipes at tears slipping down her cheeks and she draws herself together, hoping that by sheer will she can push away the dark thoughts lurking in the periphery of her mind. Beside her, Mulder is solid and secure, and even though she knows he means well, the reality of her diagnosis is something she's not ready to face. “Just for tonight, Mulder? Let's go home and cook dinner, and maybe watch a movie before we go to bed. We can talk about it more tomorrow, okay?”

Mulder plugs the key into the ignition, his eyes not moving from hers. He opens his mouth to protest, but decides to hold off on that for a time. “Okay,” he agrees, letting go of her hand to press his to her belly, desperate to feel the movement of the impossible child she's carrying. “What are you and peanut in the mood for tonight?”

Their conversation turns to the various take out restaurants along their way home, because it turns out neither of them are much in the mood for cooking anything. Once home, Scully is somewhat surprised when he doesn't try bringing it up, but the report sits on the table with it's artificially white glare just the same. She's asked him not to talk about it, but as they settle into a movie, it's practically all she wants to talk about. Still, she burrows into Mulder's arms and she loses herself in whatever movie he's picked, and she tries not to think about how the world is slowly falling apart around them.

For a while, their system of dancing around her cancer diagnosis works. They focus instead on preparing the nursery. A few weeks go by in this way, shifting comfortably around each other without talking about the proverbial elephant in the room. If Scully notices the way he’s more careful around her, offering to carry bags from shopping into the house or reaching for items she’d normally be able to reach herself, she doesn’t show it, at least not at first. It’s not until she’s standing at the wall of the room they’ve designated as the nursery and holding several paint swatches against the plaster that he gets the chance to really see the toll everything has taken on her. He watches her profile, notes the pallid color of her cheeks and the bags under her eyes. They’d spent the morning at Ikea and allowed themselves to purchase a bureau as well as a changing table for the baby’s room, along with a few smaller items. He eyes the rocking chair sitting next to the crib they’d purchased earlier that week, still sitting in a box. Putting it together too early felt like pushing their luck, but now he knows they don’t have much more time. “Scully, why don’t you sit down? You’ve been on your feet all day, and besides, maybe you’d get a better vantage point of which color you like better from across the room. It’s where you’ll sit when you’re feeding her, yeah?”

Scully bristles at his touch, even though she knows he’s right. Still, she reluctantly hands over the paint swatches and shuffles more than walks over the the rocking chair, taking a few moments to settle in comfortably. “The pink is too girly. Maybe the green? It’s soft, reminds me of spring…” she muses, tilting her head back against the headrest of the chair and sighing as she runs a hand against the swell of her stomach. She resists the urge to rub at the spot between her eyes. The headache started while they checked out at Ikea and it’s only gotten worse, but putting on a show seemed like a better option than letting on how much it’s bothering her this time. Contrary to what he may think, she’s noticed the way he’s skirted around her, careful and mindful as ever, and the last thing she wants is to mention the cancer, especially in light of the room they’re in. “Hmm?” she mumbles, as if waking from a dream, and as she looks over at him she realizes he’s been speaking. “I’m sorry, I think I dozed off for a minute.”

“I asked if you meant the wintermint green or the lily pad. But Scully, you’re tired. We can decide this later. Why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll finish putting everything away,” Mulder says, moving to help her stand up before she’s even agreed to it.

“I’m fine, Mulder. I don’t need--” she stops, squeezing his hand tight as she winces through another surge of pain. A flash of white appears behind her eyelids and she grits her teeth, waiting for the moment to pass. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when she comes to, Mulder is kneeling in front of her with a glass of water in hand and a cool washcloth pressed to her forehead. “I’m--”

“You’re not fine, so don’t even try that one,” he says, wiping at droplets of water that trickle down her face from the washcloth. “For it to come on that strong, you had to have gotten some kind of warning. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tentatively, Scully draws a sip of the water, delighting in the cold that spreads through her body. There’s hurt in his voice, and she knows it’s earned. Theirs has always been a relationship built on trust, and even if she wanted to protect him, she’s also never meant to hurt him. “I didn’t know it was going to be that bad. I thought it was something I could handle.”

“I think we should mention this at your next check up, Scully. Your doctor has to--”

“Has to know what, Mulder? They already know that I have cancer, and they already know I’m almost into my third trimester. Those two things combined heavily suggest that I’m not going to be comfortable, no matter what I do,” she replies, pressing the glass of water to her cheek. Summer hasn’t yet faded to fall, but she’s already yearning for cool autumn nights when they can leave the windows cracked open. Even with the fans and the air conditioner, she can’t seem to get cold enough.

Mulder shifts on the floor before her, trying to find a position that will be kinder to his knees. “Maybe they can give you something that could help. There are medications out there that could help take the pain away, could stave it off, until we find a more permanent solution to help fight this.”

“You keep using the word “we”, Mulder, but it’s me fighting this. I’ve already told you, I don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize the health of this baby,” she insists. The way he slowly stands, backing away from her, lets her know she’s overstepped. “Mulder, I didn’t mean--”

“You did mean it, Scully. I get it,” Mulder replies, nodding as he processes her response. He tosses the wash cloth he’d been holding to her face over his shoulder, ignoring the way the water leaks through onto his skin. “You want to help this baby. I get it. But what about you? You’re worried about what color the walls in here will be, and we debated about which changing table we should get at Ikea earlier for almost twenty minutes. That chair that you’re sitting in was the fifth one we tried. All of these things are for the child you’re carrying, and that’s amazing. It is. But what about you? You’re preparing for a child you might--”

“Don’t say--”

“Don’t say what? The truth? The fact that you’re preparing for a child that you might never get to hold? You’re hurting, Dana. What you’re doing is brave, but--”

At that, Scully stands, launching herself out of the rocking chair with more force than either of them might have expected. She blinks a couple times in hopes of clearing the stars that spark and cloud her vision. They’ve talked about it, of course they have, but Mulder’s outright saying it cuts her like a knife. She ghosts a hand over her belly and thinks not just of the baby inside her, but also of the son who has narrowly escaped death more times than she can count. She looks across the room and sees Mulder pointing at his upper lip, but it’s only once she sees a droplet of blood hit the carpet that she realizes her nose is bleeding. She rushes past him, shoving her feet into a pair of shoes and grabbing her keys, not knowing where she’s headed but finding that for the moment, she just wants to be alone. The last thing she sees backing out of the drive is Mulder at the edge of the steps, his eyes wild and his face desperate.

Before she can process it, she’s on the highway, not really intending on leaving, but wanting some space all the same. She finds some napkins from whatever fast food restaurant they visited in the glovebox and dabs at her nose, trying to curb the flow while still driving. Her belly brushes against the wheel and she feels her daughter’s heel push out in protest, so she slows down and pushes the seat a little farther back. “We’ll stop soon, little one,” she whispers, and as she spots the signs, she knows where she’s headed.

The beach where she scattered her mother’s ashes is, thankfully, vacant. A hint of storm clouds gather overhead and she hears the rumble of thunder in the distance as she carefully maneuvers herself into a comfortable sitting position on the log she and Mulder had sat on what feels like a lifetime ago. “The last time I sat here, we talked about William. But mom, there’s so much you don’t know…” Scully murmurs, not caring that the salty air tangles her hair, whipping it into her face. She feels a little foolish, knowing full well that her mother can’t hear it, but needing to say it all the same. “You’re going to have another grandchild. A granddaughter,” she says, laughing as she feels a tear slip down her cheek.

It’s not the first time since her mother has passed that she’s been keenly aware of Maggie’s absence, though with time the original sting of her death has begun to fade. Still, finding herself pregnant a second time only to hear of her cancer diagnosis a short time afterward makes Scully long for her mother’s comfort and advice all the same. “I’m sorry,” she says, choking back a sob. “You and I got to a good place, after what happened with William. I wish I could do right by him, could help him with his pain. But if I can’t, then maybe this baby…” she trails off, her words getting lost in the wind.

“I miss you, mom,” she says, watching as waves crash against the shore. She sits and stares at the water until the rain starts sprinkling, peppering her face in splinters of kisses. It’s dark by the time she returns home, but she’s almost surprised to enter the house and not see Mulder waiting up for her. She checks Dagoo’s bowl before she heads upstairs and, satisfied that the dog has been watered and fed, carefully walks upstairs in hopes of simply going to bed.

“You came home,” Mulder said, closing the book he’d been reading and setting it onto the nightstand. He slips the glasses from his face and rubs at the bridge of his nose before standing and going to greet her. He stops just out of reach, as if to assess her for any injuries. “Scully-”

She holds a hand out, needing to say it before she loses her nerve. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I shouldn’t have left like that. I just needed to think, just for a minute. You were only trying to help, and I appreciate that. I know you don’t approve of my decision to withhold treatment until this baby is born, but I need you to understand that I feel it’s the best choice. I didn’t entirely have a say in how William came into this world, so I want to do the best I can for her. If that means putting myself second, even just for a little while, I have to do that. Can you respect that?”

He knows nothing he says or does will change her decision, but he nods anyway. He’d been so scared when she left earlier and so relieved upon seeing her again, though he already knows no matter what he says, he’ll fear his words aren’t good enough. “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do. Can I get you anything?”

For a moment she considers creating some errand that might make him feel useful, but thinks better of it. “I’m just tired. Can we go to bed? Can you just hold me?”

There’s a vulnerability in her voice that is nearly his undoing. “Yeah,” he says, already pulling back the covers on her side as he slips into bed. “Of course I can do that,” he continues, speaking softly as his lips whisper against her skin. When his arms slide around her and her head nestles against him, he thinks she’s never felt so small. There’s no miracle cure this time, he thinks, as she stills beside him and sleep begins to claim him as well. The best either of them can hope for is that her body can hold out long enough for their daughter to be born and for her to begin treatment. As sleep claims him, he prays to a God he knows she believes in that that moment won’t come too late.

William arrives the next morning, sidling up the driveway with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. They'd been sitting on the porch drinking coffee (Scully's was decaf, much to her chagrin), when suddenly Dagoo took off running, eagerly sniffing and yipping at the boy. “Easy, mutt,” he says, kneeling just shy of the porch to scratch the dog behind the ears. He looks up at them, clearly worn out by his travels but with a restless energy both of his parents recognize. “I wasn't sure if you guys would be up yet.”

Scully clings to the coffee mug in her hands tight enough Mulder thinks some might spill. “Where’ve you been?”

William laughs, but it's not a bitter sound. He climbs the steps and shoves his hands inside his pockets. “Around, I guess. I stayed in the Virginia area before going west for a bit. But it turns out you can't get far without so much as a high school diploma in terms of looking for a job. And, well, there are only so many cup o’ noodles a guy can eat before he’s had too many.”

“So you came to us because you need money?” Mulder asks, ignoring the pointed look from Scully's direction. They both know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it's hard to not feel like a last resort. Still, there's something in the younger man's gaze and the way he can't seem to tear his eyes away from Scully that tells him there's more to the story. “You knew, didn't you?”

William gestures to Scully's growing middle. “Well, it's not something you can exactly hide. You're pregnant,” he says, a statement of fact not laced with surprise like they might have expected.

“Could you see it? I mean, before it was obvious,” Scully replies, feeling just the slightest bit like she's overstepped some invisible barrier. They haven't exactly had a chance to talk at all about their shared connection. “The last time we saw you, we thought…” she continues, a false start. She shakes her head and darts her tongue out to moisten parched lips. “But you're okay? I got flashes of you, glimpses that let me know you’d survived. Did you know you'd sent them?”

William shrugs, glancing about to ensure the three of them are alone. It's been a long time since he hasn't felt the urge to look over his shoulder. “The first day or so after I climbed out of the water is kind of hazy. But I’m okay. See?” he asks, pushing his hair back to reveal a small scar that's faded with time.

“And you're here because of the baby?” Scully asks, weighing the words carefully. “Did you...I mean, I don't know how you could, but did you sense it?”

The question is stilted and maybe a little awkward, but William knows she means well. He shrugs, tilting his head to the side as he does so. “Sort of. I guess? I dunno. I could sense you, kinda, but it was like there was someone else there. Aside from Mulder, I mean.”

To Mulder, his name sounds weird coming from his son’s lips, but it's still a welcome sound. He holds open the screened door, ushering them inside. “Why don't we all come sit down? I think it's time we had a nice chat.”

Together, they walk inside, with William between them. “You go set your stuff down, make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to drink?” Scully asks, suddenly not knowing what to do with her hands. She wants to reach out and touch him, whether to shake him for giving them such a scare or to hug him, but wrings them together in the front of her instead. When she looks up at William, he’s staring at her, and she can’t help wondering if he’s somehow read her thoughts.

“I’m fine,” William replies, frowning in confusion when he hears Mulder scoff at his reply. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mulder answers, certain if he turned to look at Scully he’d see the same expression on her face. Neither of them realize yet just how alike they are.

“I’m sorry,” William blurts out before he can change his mind about whether saying it or not is a good thing. “Maybe I came at a bad time, or--”

“No, this is the perfect time,” Scully insists, finally risking her chances as she reaches out to grip his arm, as if doing so could hold him there. She smiles sadly, knowing it’s not a complete truth. There’s nothing perfect about the fact she’s got cancer and is struggling to maintain her health through the remainder of a pregnancy that is just as much a miracle as the first one. Still, there’s nothing she wants more than to be in the same room as her son. “You’re always welcome here. I want you to know that.”

“Yeah,” William replies, nodding slowly. He shifts his feet uncomfortably and ducks his head, trying to not feel out of place. He’d stayed away as long as he had because he felt coming to them was somewhat of a betrayal of the parents who’d raised him, but there had been a shift the second he’d started seeing her in his visions again, and it was one that ushered him in their direction. His stomach growls, and when he looks back at them he realizes it was loud enough for them to hear. “You guys got anything to eat? I haven’t had breakfast.”

Mulder would’ve offered to drive to the closest grocery store and buy him whatever he wanted if he had to, but he nods and points to the kitchen instead. “I’m sure we can find something,” he says, pushing him in that direction. As he starts pulling a carton of eggs and some cheese from the fridge, it strikes him he doesn’t even know what his son likes to eat. He shakes the food he’s holding in William’s direction, eyes hopeful. “You cool with an omelet?”

“Yeah,” William says, dragging a chair out from the table so slowly the legs scrape against the tile. “That’s cool.”

Scully holds onto the chair opposite William, eyes honed on him, not sure of what to say. For the first time in far too long, she has the people who matter most to her in the same room, and yet she’s at a loss for finding words that seem appropriate for the situation. There are things they need to talk about, things she wants him to know, and yet again she feels her diagnosis settle like an albatross on her shoulders. The air suddenly feels thin, and she fights to take in a deep breath, because as much as she wants to be near them both, at the moment she also wants space. “I’m going to go sit down. You two can join me when you’re done,” she says, walking away before she lets the tears fall.

They gather in the living room once Mulder finishes cooking William’s breakfast, mostly about where he’s been and what he’s been up to. He regales them with a story of him working a construction job, and then another where he flipped burgers. He turns his wrist over to show them the faintest scar from where grease had popped off the grill at him, but stops short of telling them that much like the mark on his forehead, this one once looked far worse.

Scully listens intently, eager to soak up every detail of his life that she can. It's not until William ducks his head and gnaws at his bottom lip that the mood turns somewhat somber. He looks up at her, eyes afraid, and asks what became of the man on the docks, the one who referred to himself as his creator, and her heart hammers in her chest.

Mulder answers, not because he feels like she can't, but because in a way, it’s his burden to bear. He assures William that the smoking man is dead, stopping just short of adding the phrase “for good this time”. When William asks what Spender meant, Mulder lets Scully take the lead, and he listens intently as she tells him the story of how he came to be. There's much more to the story of course, and Mulder hopes it’s the first of many conversations the three (soon to be four) of them will have. It's that thought that draws his attention back to Scully. He studies her profile, thinking she looks a bit more paler than she did earlier in the morning, but she’s leaning in to listen as their son speaks all the same.

The conversation continues, veering back to lighter topics like what William ate while on the road and people he’s met along the way. He lets slip that he nabbed some food at a grocery store by disguising himself as a much larger man wearing a jacket with plenty of pockets, but he pauses upon hearing her laugh. That isn't exactly the reaction he might have expected.

“Don't get me wrong, I’m not saying I approve,” she insists, holding up her hands in his direction. “I’m just picturing...oh, I don't know,” she continues. The tears that spring to her eyes surprise her. As she brings a hand up to dab at her eyes, the thought occurs to her that her upper lip also feels wet. She covers her mouth and eyes the Kleenex box before looking at Mulder, and she hopes he catches her meaning. She knows William should learn about her diagnosis, but her getting another nosebleed isn't how she wants him to find out.

Mulder catches onto her meaning and he stands, handing her the box of kleenex. He points at William’s duffel bag on the floor before hooking his thumb in the direction of the stairs, hoping he can coax his son away to give Scully a few minutes to collect herself. “Why don't I show you upstairs?” he asks William, already heading that way. “I’ll show you where you can put your things.”

The day proceeds and they hover, careful to press in too close for fear of scaring William away. Scully tries busying herself with household chores like cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry, and she tells herself the fact she's tired is to be expected at this stage in her pregnancy, nevermind the fact there's a cancer inside of her that's sapping what energy she has left. After a somewhat tense dinner that evening, she excuses herself to go lie down. It kills her, being under the same roof as William but not feeling close to him. They've talked some throughout the day, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to know more. She pulls the one baby picture she's allowed herself to keep out of storage from the drawer, and she traces her finger across his face, trying to make it meld with that of the nearly grown man who will spend the night in the next room. She's missed so much of his life, and yet as much as she wants to be near him, there's a hesitation to get too close. She rests a hand against her belly, and closing her eyes, she prays she’ll be able to stick around long enough to get to know both of her children.

Downstairs, William and Mulder settle into a movie. It's one Mulder has seen before, but William's eyes light at seeing it in the Netflix queue, and he's not about to deny his son something he wants. He spends most of the movie stealing glances at the boy who he suspects is only pretending to not be tired, and casting his eyes toward the stairs, half expecting Scully to come back down at any minute. She should be here for this, he thinks, although he couldn't bring himself to be upset at her even if he wanted to. He knows the toll the day has taken on her, on top of everything she's already facing. This time, when he looks over at William, he sees him staring back.

“You gotta stop doing that, dude. It's kinda weird,” William says, pulling his feet off of the coffee table where he’d propped them up. “You keep staring at me like a ghost, like I’m gonna disappear or something.”

Mulder hesitates for a moment, biting at his bottom lip for a moment before reaching for the remote and hitting pause. “About that--”

“The movie’s almost over, you can't stop now,” William interjects, realizing only after his outburst that the mood of the room has grown more serious. He's noted the nervous energy all afternoon and into the evening, there's no way he couldn't, but it feels like this is different. He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees. “What is it?”

Mulder draws a deep breath, knowing full well Scully should probably be here for this, but also feeling like he doesn't have much of a choice, and he hopes she'll forgive him if and when she learns of their conversation. “I’m sorry if I’ve treated you any differently. If either of us have. The truth is, we're glad you're here. I don't want you to think otherwise.”

“Because of the baby, you mean?” William asks, leveling his gaze. An odd sense of warmth that he doesn't know what to do with spreads through him at the mention of his sister. His sister, he thinks, causing his head to spin.

Mulder nods, glad that the younger man is an active participant in the conversation, rather than him having to spit it all out at once in hopes of William understanding it. “You know she loves you. We both do. It's important you understand that.”

“Yeah,” William replies, swallowing slowly, as if buying himself time. “Why do I feel like there's a “but” in there?”

“I just…” Mulder hesitates, rubbing a tired hand across his stubbled face. He waves a hand in William's direction. “You show up here this morning needing a place to stay. Which is great. It is.”

“But you're wondering how long I plan on sticking around. Is that it?” William asks, sensing by Mulder's hesitation that it’s the right answer. He settles back onto the couch, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling, feeling like if he looks at Mulder he might lose the nerve to finish his answer. “Do you know the last time I sat at a dinner table and ate a meal with other people? It was the night my parents died. Before they, you know,” he laughs it off, blinking back tears. “I just...I missed home. Being around people that don't think I’m some homeless bum, a freak, or a combination of both. You guys? You don't look at me like that.”

“Well,” Mulder says, shifting towards William. “Since you do plan on sticking around, there's something else you need to know.”

“I know,” William responds, continuing before Mulder has a chance to interrupt him. He stares at a point in the ceiling intently, tapping his forehead before looking back at Mulder. “She's sick, isn't she? And not just because of morning sickness from the baby?”

“How did--”

“I can't explain it. I...felt it, I guess? I saw it. Like I see other things that don't always make sense,” William replies, watching as Mulder processes his response. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Mulder opens his mouth to reply, only to close it again. There's no easy way to tell a kid their parent is wasting away from cancer, so he crosses his arms in a mirror image of the way William's crossed his and he shrugs, slowly exhaling until he's out of breath. “She's better now that you're here and she knows you're okay,” he says, a nonanswer, in hopes it will be enough, and because he wants to clarify William's stance on their impending arrival, he steers the conversation back in that direction. “The baby doesn't change your want to stay here, does it? We don't want you to feel uncomfortable or--”

“No, it's fine,” William insists, laughing a little at knowing how awkward it must have been for Mulder to ask him such a thing. “I mean, maybe it's a little weird, but that's okay,” he says, noting the relief present in Mulder's expression before he has a chance to mask it. He clears his throat and points at the tv. “Can we finish the movie now?”

“Yes, sure,” Mulder replies, both out of eagerness to move on from more serious subjects and from a desire to enjoy something with his son. He reaches for the remote and presses play, and he tries his best to appear calm, even if inside he feels anything but.

Night gives into day, and day to week, and eventually the weeks turn into months. William stays. That's not a surprise to Mulder, given their late night confessional conversation, but something he hadn't quite expected is how protective he’d get around Scully. Mulder watches from time to time as William does things like reach for things on higher shelves or take the laundry down to the basement so she doesn't have to. He’s watchful, but he hasn't been without the expected teenager moments. He’ll occasionally roll his eyes when asked to clean something up or play his music a little too loud for their liking, but they're both so relieved he’s there at all that they find it difficult to complain.

There's a moment near the end of Scully’s pregnancy when Mulder is battling some bug Scully tells him isn't the flu, but she still manages to send him upstairs to sleep it off. With Scully essentially on mandatory bedrest (which, for a time, meant making a nest out of blankets and pillows on the couch where she's more comfortable), the only one left to forage for dinner is William. Without thinking, he grabs the keys to Scully's car, believing surely he’ll be back before either of them notice.

But of course, as it turns out, he’s wrong. By the time he returns Scully's eyes are rimmed red and she's managed to rouse Mulder from his sleep.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” Mulder says, coughing into the crook of his arm.

Scully gathers herself as best she can, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt she’s claimed as her own from Mulder's side of the closet. There's not much in the way of clothes that make her comfortable these days. “You can't take off like that. If you wanted to borrow the car, you could've asked. Spender and the others might be dead, but you need to be careful. When I looked out the window and saw the car was gone, I thought…” she trails off, anger rapidly leaving her when she sees him hold up a large brown paper bag. Until now, she hasn't smelled it, but suddenly the smell of the chinese food is nearly overpowering. “You bought dinner?”

“I did,” William replies, resting the bag on the back of the sofa and pulling out a container of soup, handing it to Mulder. “I didn't know what kind of soup you liked, so I got you the wonton, but there's egg drop in here, too. Soup’s supposed to be good, since you're apparently dying,” he says, elbowing Mulder in his side, but he freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Beside him, Scully clings to the couch in a way he knows is meant to look casual, but he realizes is likely due to her condition. He's been with them for several months, and she's been careful to not mention her cancer around him, as if doing so could break the proverbial spell of domesticity they've somehow lucked themselves into. He feels her sickness though, pressing in like a weight that's somehow painful and numbing at the same time, whenever he catches himself thinking too much about it.

“Are there egg rolls in there?” Scully asks, not entirely unaware of William’s discomfort, but uncertain of the source. She pokes at the bag, finding herself curious at what he's brought.

“There are,” William replies with a nod. He takes her arm and helps her sit comfortably before doling her out the requested egg rolls.

They eat in companionable silence, and they offer him a warning not to take off without telling them where he’s going. William wipes sauce from his face with his hand before wiping it on his jeans, and he ignores their judging glances at that move. He changes the subject by asking about an old case he’d seen an article on while looking in Mulder’s office for a piece of paper, and curls up in an armchair watching in amusement as they bicker over certain details in the case. It seems impossible, knowing what he knows, but just for the moment, he thinks everything is okay.

A few days pass and the excitement of William’s taking off without notice wears off. Mulder is pulling weeds out of the garden, with Scully perched in the shade on the porch with her feet propped up, good naturedly offering commentary on his work, when suddenly William comes through the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just,” William replies. The porch is shaded, but he still puts a hand at his brow to shade his eyes. “Do you guys hear that?”

Mulder pauses his work, pulling a gardening glove from his hand to wipe at the sweat on his face. There’s a hint of fall slipping into the breeze, but the air is still hot. He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to determine the source of the sound William’s heard. “A bird, maybe?”

Without prompting, William takes off through the grass, not caring that he’s not wearing shoes. He heads near the old barn and approaches the side, crouching down near a tree. His back is turned, but soon he’s walking back towards them, his hands cupped together and his face turned downward. He trudges up the steps, holding the injured bird in his hands, his face wary as he looks to Scully. “Do you think his wing is broken? I mean, I know you’re a doctor with people, but--”

“I’m afraid so,” Scully says, gingerly reaching out to brush the bird’s feathers with her fingertip. She’s not sure how long the bird’s been lying there, crying out for help, but it’s evident by how little it’s moving that it’s outlook on life isn’t good. “There’s probably a box somewhere inside we can put him in, and maybe some towels,” she says, glancing at William. “I don’t know that he’s going to make it though. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

William shakes his head, surprising even himself with his sudden resolve. He slouches his shoulders and brings his hands closer to his face, his eyes never leaving the wounded bird. He rubs his thumb over the wing, and practically before he has time to process what he’s doing, the bones in the wing snap back together, fusing back into place as if they were never apart. He holds the bird in one hand while hovering the other over it’s body, feeling a slight pop in the air as he feels other tissue repair itself. When he’s done, he kneels down, watching as the bird takes a few cautious steps, testing its weight. Suddenly, it flaps its wings a few times before flying back to the tree it had fallen from, whistling a few times as if to say thanks.

“That’s incredible,” Scully says, staring at him in awe. Mulder has told her the things he’s seen their son do, knows full well the damage his powers can bring. It scared her a little before she knew him, but after getting more acclimated to his presence, she’s realized he’s more wonderful than she ever could have imagined.

“How did you know you could do that?” Mulder asks, setting the gardening aside to join the conversation.

William shrugs, perhaps a little embarrassed at his sudden actions. “When I was a kid, there was this stray cat that would hang around our house. One day, this guy comes flying down the road, not even looking where he was going, and he hit him. I dunno what I was thinking, I just...did it. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“That’s not the only time, is it?” Scully asks, taking in the way he dodges their curious glances.

“There’s been a few times, I guess,” William admits with a sigh. “Once my parents saw me do it, they told me I had to stop. They didn’t want me doing things they couldn’t explain if a neighbor saw.”

Scully nods with a sigh. She can’t help wondering if his adoptive parents forcing him to behave is what made him lash out in the way he had been. Doing things like make people see a monster or make them think he'd been hurt don’t exactly come out of nowhere. She opens her mouth to speak, to perhaps offer him some words that might bring comfort, but he’s already mumbling something about going inside as he turns for the door.

Later, Mulder tries to sleep, but an idea catches in his mind and won’t let go. After nearly an hour of trying to get comfortable, his attempt at sleep is interrupted by Scully turning on the bedside lamp. He sits up, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “What is it, Scully? Is it the baby?”

“No,” she replies, stifling a yawn. “I suppose you could say it is, since no position seems to be comfortable these days. But right now, I can’t sleep because of you. Something’s bothering you, Mulder. What is it?”

The concern in her voice is nearly Mulder’s undoing. He’s been thinking about bringing the subject up to her all day, but he’s not sure how to approach it. “It doesn’t matter, Scully,” he says, already feeling like she’ll say no, but her pointed glance makes him realize he now has to continue. “I think we should ask him to help you.”

“Help me?” Scully asks, knitting her brow in confusion until she catches his meaning. “Mulder, no. There is no way I’m asking him to do that.”

“Why not? He could heal you, Scully. Take the cancer inside of you away. Why wouldn’t you want that?” Mulder asks, wishing this were easier.

“I’m not risking my son’s life just to save mine,” Scully replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, even if we did ask him, we’d first have to tell him about the cancer. That’s not a conversation I know how to have. He’s doing well here, and he’s coping with the pregnancy better than I could’ve hoped, but--” she pauses, noting the resigned way Mulder holds himself. “You told him? Mulder, you didn’t bother discussing this with me first. You--”

Mulder’s holds up his hands in her direction, as if to ward off her attack. “I didn’t tell him, per se. He knew on his own. It was when he first came to us. I was afraid of what his leaving so soon might do to you, so I wanted to see how long he’d stick around.”

“And somehow, the fact I’m dying came into the conversation?” Scully exclaims, her words a proverbial slap in the face to both people in the bedroom. They sit in silence for a few moments, letting the potential reality of her diagnosis settle like a heavy weight between them. She pulls her arm from under the blanket and reaches for his hand, grateful that he doesn’t pull away.

He pulls her hand to his mouth, planting a kiss against her knuckles, and shakes his head in defiance. They’ve talked about her cancer some, and he’s been to every appointment possible. He’s watched as her energy has slowly declined and she’s lost some of the color in her cheeks, and he’s losing the belief now that it’s all due to the baby. The memory of nearly losing her to cancer all those years before strikes him to his core, rising from the ashes of their past like an unwelcome ghost. “You are not dying, Scully,” he whispers, tracing his thumb across her wrist in search of her pulse, as if needing proof of his accusation. “You saw what Will did today. That bird was as good as gone, but it flew back to the trees like nothing happened.”

“I don’t doubt his abilities, Mulder. Our son is amazing,” she says, smiling sadly. “But I can’t ask him to fix me. What if he’s not able to do it? I don’t want him carrying that guilt on his conscience. He’s already lost the parents who raised him, I don’t want him to lose me, too.”

Mulder lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side, resting his head against hers. “Will won’t lose you,” he replies, silently adding the fact he won’t either. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and he settles back against the headboard, content for now in holding her as she sleeps. He wants to scream, to be angry at her for turning down a solution to their problem, but he knows he can’t be mad at her, at least not for long.

The baby comes a week early, all pink and soft and warm. Scully’s able to get to the hospital in time for delivery, although with not much time to spare. The nurse comes to take the baby away for testing, and without having been asked, Mulder follows. He knows all too well the horrors Scully faced with William the first time around, and so he’s not about to take any chances. If the nurses suspect anything by his hovering, they don’t say a word.

When Scully holds her daughter for the first time, the feeling that comes over her is undescribable. It seems impossible, that she’d arrive healthy and happy and whole, but like other miracles they’ve received, she knows better than to question it. “She’s really okay,” Scully says, feeling the bed dip under Mulder’s weight as he perches himself next to her.

“She’s beautiful,” Mulder replies, unable to say much else. Watching Scully look at their baby fills him with a sense of pride. In spite of all the difficulties they’ve faced, they’ve found their way back to each other and face parenthood all over again, albeit under far different circumstances this time around. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Sore,” Scully replies, knowing there’s no use in trying to lie. She offers a smile she hopes will be reassuring. “I’ll be okay.”

Mulder traces the outline of his daughter’s cheek before cupping her head in his palm. Beside him, Scully is calm, but he can only imagine the thoughts rolling through her head.

The moment is interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. “Hey,” William says, weakly waving one hand in greeting. “The nurses said it was okay to come in now. Did you guys need some time?”

“No,” Scully insists, catching movement behind his back. “What’s that?”

“I stopped for flowers in the gift shop,” William replies, pulling the bouquet into sight. “It’s nothing crazy, but I just figured...flowers are nice, I guess.”

“They are,” Scully replies, eager to reassure him. William had been content to sit in the waiting room through labor and delivery, a fact she completely understood. She takes in his nervous energy, watching as he cranes his neck to get a look at the baby, so she musters what little energy she has to shift the baby in her arms to allow him a better view.

“She’s so tiny. Was I this little?” William asks, surprising even himself by how easily the question comes out. They’ve talked about the past and he’s gotten more comfortable with it, but it’s still a sensitive subject.

“You’d fit on one arm,” Mulder chimes in, knowing by Scully’s expression she’s still processing everything and therefore isn’t in much of a position to respond. He points to the flowers and starts heading for the door. “I’m going to check with the nurses and see if there’s anything we can keep those in.”

Scully realizes only once he’s left the room that it’s the first time she’s alone with both of her children. “Do you want to hold her? Pull over a chair.”

William shakes his head initially, only to drag a chair over seconds later. The baby is far lighter than he might have expected, and he’s startled a little when she begins to move. “My parents…” he begins, clearing his throat. “They planned on adopting again, a few years after they adopted me. But I started showing signs of, well, what I can do,” he says, shifting in his seat, careful to support the baby’s head. “I guess they just didn’t want another kid to be exposed to that. It was too much of a burden for them.”

“You’re not a burden,” Scully replies, eager to reassure him. His eyes light up at her response, so she hopes it’s done some good. She looks up as Mulder reenters the room, settling the flowers on the bedside table. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Mulder replies, rocking back on his heels. “What about you?”

“Mulder, I’m fine,” Scully says, knowing even as the words leave her mouth they’re not true. Pain after giving birth, even with medication, is to be expected, but she knows this is different. She’s spared from having to say anything else by the sound of the baby letting out a cry.

“All I did was shift my arms so I could support her head better. I’m sorry,” William insists, staring at his sister helplessly. He tries rocking her gently like he’s seen other people do with infants, but it’s no use.

“It’s okay,” Mulder says, rounding the bed and already holding out his arms. “Let me try.”

William sighs in relief when Mulder lifts the baby from his arms, hopeful that Mulder can ease her crying. “Did you guys give her a name yet?”

Scully shifts a little in the hospital bed, wincing as she does so. Movement isn’t a good idea just yet. “We were thinking about Olivia, but we haven’t decided yet.”

“Olivia,” William says, nodding slowly as he rolls the name around his head. “I like it.”

“We might have a winner then,” Scully replies, clearly pleased. She tries telling herself the white lights that flash across her vision as a jolt of pain hits her right between the eyes is merely a coincidence.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” William asks, fearing the answer. He nods with a solid resolve before she has the chance to respond. “I could do it, you know.”

“Do what?” Scully asks, watching as William taps his forehead, and suddenly it clicks. “Mulder, we agreed that this wasn’t the way I wanted to fight this.”

Mulder paces back from his position by the window, adopting a subtle rocking motion in hopes of soothing the baby. “Scully, it wasn’t me. This is all him.”

“Will--” she says, turning her attention back to her son. His solemn expression confirms to her that it’s the truth. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to get you involved.”

“I’m already involved,” William replies, quickly standing up. He spreads his arms, gesturing about the room. “I live with you guys, and I’ve gotten to know you better, just like I wanted. And you’re nicer than I thought you’d be. You’d have to be to let some sorry excuse of a weird, jackass teenager stay under your roof.”

“You’re not a--”

“The point,” William interjects, halting her rebuttal. He rubs his shoulder with one hand, suddenly feeling uneasy. He’s wondered about her his whole life, has enjoyed getting to know her as well as Mulder, but he wonders briefly if the parents that raised him would approve of his getting attached to the ones who are responsible for giving him life. He edges closer to her, deciding it’s a choice he’d want to make either way. “I’ve hurt a lot of people, I’ve done some really crappy things. But I’ve done some good ones, too. I was kinda hoping this could be one of them,” he concedes, hanging his head. His speech was corny and later he might be embarrassed, but he wants her to know it’s something he’s willing to do, provided she’ll let him.

Scully debates her answer, knowing it’ll cause tension if she says no. They’re coming to take her soon for tests, more scans and blood work as they plan on taking her cancer head on. She doesn’t completely comprehend the full spectrum of what William can do, but if there’s even a chance he can help her before all the treatments start, it’s a risk she’s now willing to take. Her eyes focus on Mulder for a moment, who promptly shifts backwards with the baby in his arms, unsure if they need more space to do whatever William plans to do, but giving it all the same. “What do you need to do?”

William tries to mask his surprise. Her acceptance isn’t entirely something he expected. “Just-” he says, placing his hands on either side of her head. In the periphery, he sees Mulder move to block the window in the door, shielding them from the outside world. He focuses back on Scully, somewhat relieved when she closes her eyes. The red headed woman he’s seen in his dreams, the one he’s so connected to in ways he’s just beginning to understand. He knows without question that he has to save her. He draws a deep breath to steady himself. “Just stay still.”

Scully does as asked, keeping her eyes closed as William’s hands settle around her head. She waits, expecting some grand spectacle, but suddenly all she feels is a pop, like a valve releasing and letting out all the air from a balloon. Her skin grows hot then cold, but as the pain between her eyes subsides, her temperature returns to normal. Like so many other things, the fact her headache quickly goes away seems impossible, but it’s something she chooses not to question.

“How do you feel?” William asks, his voice sounding strange after the room had fallen silent.

“Okay,” Scully replies, settling on the simplest answer. She doesn’t want to get his or Mulder’s hopes up and plans on getting the scans and tests done anyhow, just to be sure. She reaches her arms out, already missing the weight of the baby. “Mulder, it’s my turn.”

Mulder hands the baby over, studying Scully warily. He could be imagining the fact that she’s lighter and less withdrawn than she’s been in recent weeks, but as he watches her with their daughter, he knows without a way to explain it that it’s not true. She’s okay, and William made her that way. “What about you?” he asks, shifting his concern to his son. Healing her has to have taken a lot out of him.

“I’m tired, but I’m totally okay,” William insists. He clears his throat and points to his sister, eager to get the attention off of himself. “So, Olivia, huh?”

Scully nods, deciding as she stares at her baby’s face that it’s the right name. “Olivia.”

The doctors aren’t sure how to explain the absence of her cancer. They say things like the first scans could have been false positives and how “sometimes, these things just happen”, and Scully agrees to come back in a few weeks for follow up just in case. She doesn’t doubt that William has healed her, even if she isn’t certain how.

A few days after Olivia is born, they’re released and told they can go home, with another promise from Scully that she’ll return for further work up. When they pull up to the house, Mulder carefully lifts the car seat from the backseat, nodding at William to carry the overnight bag they’d packed to take to the hospital.

“I’m not an invalid, you know,” Scully says, even if she knows there’s no use.

“Scully, you just had a baby. You’re allowed to take it easy,” Mulder says, shifting Olivia’s car seat to unlock the front door.

“Why don’t you go sit down? Do you need anything?” William asks, hoping to make himself useful.

Scully groans as she settles onto the couch. “I don’t believe I signed up for both of you to gang up on me.”

“Tough,” Mulder says, carefully unbuckling Olivia from her seat. Once she’s free, he turns her to face Scully and raises his eyebrows. “There’s three of us now, keeping you in line.”

Scully laughs at that, and her heart feels full. “Let me see Olivia,” she says, reveling in the feeling of her child in her arms.

“I’m going to go grab everything else from the car,” Mulder says, making his way out of the house.

Scully waits for the door to shut to turn to William. “I never got a chance the other day,” she says, weighing her words carefully. “Thank you.”

William lowers his gaze, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention. “You’d do the same thing for me.”

Her breath catches in her throat at his response. She hadn’t exactly expected that, and even as she looks at him, she knows he has no idea despite the things she and Mulder have told him the depths she’s gone through for him.

“So I was thinking,” Mulder says, backing into the house with his arms laden with bags. They’d stopped to pick a few things up on the way home. “Why don’t I show her highness up to her bed? She could use a little shut eye, and it’d give you some rest before she’s hungry again.”

“I’ll do it,” William replies, already reaching for Olivia. He’s felt a little off kilter the past few days, they all have, but he wants to put himself to use.

Mulder watches as William carries Olivia upstairs before settling next to Scully. She’s tired, that much he can tell, but she’s not sick. He nudges her knee, pulling her attention back to him. “You good?”

Scully thinks of asking him if he got that phrasing from William, but she thinks better of it. She thinks of William, hopefully settling Olivia in upstairs, and knows she’s content. In spite of everything, they’ve made it here. It’s all she could’ve asked. She rests her head against Mulder’s shoulder, giving herself a moment’s peace, certain that at any minute Olivia will wake up, hungry and in need of her mother. Mother, Scully thinks with a smile. It’s a title she’s held for a long time, but it’s still one she’s relatively new at. “Yes,” she replies, more at ease than she’s been in a long time. “We all are.”


End file.
